


911, What's Your Emergency?

by Mythonik



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Murder, Blood and Violence, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD Victor Nikiforov, Stalking, Swearing, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythonik/pseuds/Mythonik
Summary: "Yes, um, t-there's someone inside my house."Viktor paused. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that for me, please?"The caller breathed in shakily, clearly distressed but keeping their composure nonetheless."There is someone,"they gasped,"inside my house... a-and I don't know what to do."- - - - - -Senior Dispatcher Viktor Nikiforov had been part of the "thin blue line" separating everyday innocent civilians from the horrors of society for almost nine years now.He was more than sure that he had already seen and heard it all, that absolutely nothing could faze him anymore.He was terribly wrong.- - - - - -"Sir? Sir, are you there?! Is everything alright?!""He's here--!"Beep... Beep... Beep...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did as much research as I could find on this, but I am still not entirely confident on the accuracies that comes with the dispatch process...? Also, pretend they all live in the United States in the same city for the story's sake.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

❉❅❉❅❉❅❉❅

Despite having seniority, the young Russian had a certain fixation for taking in the afternoon or late night shifts usually reserved for the still bright-eyed rookies. This often lead to his fellow dispatchers asking him if he was alright in the head and keeping up with his medication in varying degrees. 

Viktor would always laugh and shrug off their less than humourous questions.

Maybe it was the adrenaline of the chase, maybe it was the euphoria that came after successfully helping someone, or maybe it was the gnawing anticipation that at any second he could receive a momentous call from some unfortunate soul that kept him denying his boss's offers for a shift transfer time after time.

 _'Or maybe,'_ his mind drawled, _'it's because it gives you something to do instead of staying home alone with Makkachin.'_

Mottled blues rolled in exasperation, the rim of an off-white paper cup pressed lightly over parted lips. Dealing with the job had given him a sort of inner conscience to argue against; or, as one of the new trainees described it as to her ragtag gaggle of friends, a personal asshole that helped them 'oldies' in coping with the stress. 

It was silly, he knew, having taken the gruelling medical classes demanded by the state, to consider it a separate person to talk to when he distinctly knew what the little voice was: a byproduct of a traumatised mind trying to heal itself. 

"Comes with the job, I guess," Viktor chuckled ruefully under his breath, sipping at his black coffee and shooting a glance at the watch wrapped securely around his thin wrist. 

_9:37 P.M._

The silver haired man hummed. He still had time to lounge around until the afternoon shift left at 10 o'clock sharp, yet he would prefer to reach his station early and have everything ready to go rather than twiddling his thumbs alone in the operators' designated _'Recovery Room.'_ It never hurt to be extra prepared for a long and unpredictable night, after all. 

Besides, Viktor could do with avoiding the avid fanfare he had developed amongst the rookies. 

                             ❅❉❅

Fifteen minutes left until his shift started. 

Sipping the last dregs of the lukewarm coffee, Viktor was about to stand to toss away the cup when he saw a wildly blinking notice on one of the neighbouring consoles besides his.

"Huh?" 

His head tilted in confusion, but nonetheless he approached the vacant terminal. Deft fingers picked up the resting headset, slipped it on with a grace that came from endless practice, and sat lightly on the rolling chair. A few clicks from his nails tapping the hard plastic of the keyboard's keys patched the call through to him. 

"911, what's your emergency?" He asked, voice a leveled monotone as he repeated the customary mantra. 

_"Yes, hello,"_ crackled a man through the line, _"is this Miss Rosa Green? This is Grenher Police Station."_

Viktor's eyebrows raised in slight surprise. Pulling his poised fingers back from hovering over the keys, the Russian leaned back on the chair and shook his head despite the caller not being able to actually see him do so. 

"No, sir, Miss Green has already left for the day," he informed, tone now pleasant and airy. "If I may ask, though," he continued, reaching over to pluck a pack of post-it notes and a pen from a nearby mesh basket, "what can I help you with?" 

The officer remained quiet for a few moments, seemingly debating if he should confide whatever it was he needed to another Dispatcher. However, before Viktor could suggest writing a message down for Rosa to see next morning, he spoke up once again. 

_"Do you have the recordings of a call that took place Wednesday, last week?"_

The operator paused, torn between laughing fondly or shaking his head at the idiots that left a new face to the police force in charge of collecting telecommunication evidence. Eventually he settled for the latter and set to work. 

Slim fingers clacked rhythmically as he did a quick search of the database. Sure enough, the list of recorded calls from last week's Wednesday were pulled up on one of the five monitors. 

"Yes, sir, I do," he nodded, waiting for further instructions. 

_"Oh, um..."_ The young trainee hesitated. 

"Sir?"

_"I-is there one regarding a Mister... Tachioka?"_

Icy blue eyes skimmed the records with a critical glint, stopping once they found the given last name. "Yes, sir, we do," he relayed, already opening the file and briefly pouring over the supplied details. 

_'White Japanese male, 25, lives alone, and victim of a gunshot wound to the stomach. Unknown assailant dressed in black broke into his home, visibly didn't take anything, and left soon after shooting.'_

_"Great! Could you, um, send them over for a case report, please?"_

Viktor almost cooed at the officer's inexperience, but he caught himself in time. Clearing his throat, he lilted, "I will have to receive confirmation from the director first, sir, but once the procedures have been taken care of, you will receive the recordings." 

The young man on the line had audibly choked when he mentioned the director's confirmation, but quickly composed himself enough to give his thanks and hang up on the Dispatcher. 

A sigh peeled from weary lips, closely followed by creaks of protest from the rolling chair as he shifted his weight on the old thing. Speaking to newbies was always a task in and of itself, he mused. 

A fleeting glance to his watch reminded him he only had a few minutes left to return to his own station, so with a hastily written email sent to Director Yakov, Viktor made sure to power off the terminal and remove Rosa's line from standby.

He knew at the back of his mind that the recordings would not be released at the request of a trainee -- usually only if a superior with a damn good reason requested the transfer themselves would it work, but Viktor had decided to humour the young man; if only to take off some stress from the poor kid's shoulders, he reasoned with himself. 

He absentmindedly tossed the forgotten paper cup into the trash at the entrance of the control room and was on his way back to his station when the analogue clocks struck ten at night. The mixed groans and sighs of relief from the afternoon shift were an almost pleasant background hum to the impending silence the graveyard shift brought with itself. 

Sooner than what he expected, Viktor was already sitting on the familiar spinning chair and slipping on his headset in one fluid motion. A few clicks of a mouse and a couple of taps on his keyboard later left him ready to tackle the arduous shift. 

                             ❅❉❅

In total, there had only been around ten emergency-level calls so far into the shift, excluding the twenty or so miscellaneous calls from people filing in noise complaints against their neighbours or alleged suspicious behaviour in a house that usually ended up being the caller's own dog running amok. 

All-in-all, Viktor considered this a slow night so far. He had only answered around five non-emergency calls himself, so he had only just begun to let his mind wander when a high pitched click echoed forth from his headset, his open line having automatically connected to an incoming call. 

"911, what's your emergency?" He recited, hands poised over the hard plastic keys and ready to rain down upon them with lightning speed. 

. . . 

Silence. 

Nothing but the muted buzz of a far-off air conditioning unit filtered through his headset. _'Odd...?'_ Viktor thought, eyes squinting in slight bewilderment.

Nonetheless, he pressed forward. 

"Hello? Is anyone there?" 

Finally, a loud crackle burst through, almost jarring the operator hard enough to flinch back from the too loud sound. 

_"Yes, yes, um, I-I am here,"_ a male's voice answered, Eastern (if Viktor had to guess) accent thickened with noticeable fear. 

"Hello, sir," he said again, finger muscles already twitching with restraint. "What's your emergency?" 

_"T-there is a, uh, a-a man standing outside my house."_

_**Click clack, click clack, click clack.** _

"Understood, sir. What's your name, sir?" 

_"M-my name? Oh! It's Hikaru Nakamura."_

_**Click clack, click clack, click clack.**_

"What is your address, Mister Nakamura?" 

_"6752 Magnolia Lane, in Giera Pass."_

Whilst Viktor typed the given address and began to throw quick glances at his emergency vehicle monitor, the man on the line continued.

_"He's just... standing there, n-not moving."_

"Do you know how long he has been there, sir? I am sending a police car your way, but it may be delayed due to the storm." 

"Īe. _I-I mean, no, I don't. I woke up after my dog started b-barking, and I thought she was barking at the thunder, you know? But then she kept staring at the front door a-and wouldn't move, so I peeked out the window and--"_

. . .

"Mister Nakamura? Are you there?" 

Hitched gasps. A muffled, distant growl of a dog.

"Sir? Is everything alright?" 

_"H-he's closer now,"_ came the feeble whisper, so tiny and shaky that Viktor had to strain to hear it. 

An uneasy feeling settled in Viktor's gut, but he kept a levelled head and prowled on. Briefly switching lines to the open police channel, the Dispatcher swiftly barked for the nearest squad car to report to the man's home. Aside from the original vehicle, another officer duo reported being close to the area as well and radioed back in that they were now en route. 

They would be around twenty minutes off, however. 

Viktor dutifully made the man aware of the fact once he switched back to his line. 

"The police are on their way, sir," he soothed, the man's laboured and near hysterical breath bringing his training to the forefront of his mind. "Are you and your dog alone in your house, sir?"

Half stuttered and rapid Japanese crackled through. The operator pursed his lips and slowly said, "I'm going to need you to speak English for me, okay, sir?" 

"H-hai-- _f-fuck, I mean yes, yes, of course. A-and yes, it's just m-me and my dog."_

"Understood, sir, stay on the phone with me, please." 

_**Click clack, click clack, click clack.**_

"Can you confirm for me that all of your windows and doors are locked, sir?"

The man's breathe ceased the second a dog's loud and vicious warning bark crackled in. 

_"He's standing closer now, b-but he's not moving anymore,"_ the man whimpered, tone nasal and sounding as if he were about to start crying then and there. 

_'Deep breathes, Vitya,'_ came the pest in his head, strangely comforting at the moment. _'Deep breathes.'_

"Easy, sir, just stay on the line and everything will be alright," the silver haired man reassured, typing furiously away at his two keyboards and jerking the dual mice here and there. 

"Can you confirm that all access points are locked, sir? Can you do that for me?"

_"...Y-yeah. I-I'll go check right now."_

The soft thud of something being placed down left Viktor mouthing inaudible curse words.

 _Fuck._ It was a corded phone.

He distantly heard the sounds of slow shuffling, a dog's anxious whining and grunting, and faraway footsteps getting closer again to the receiver. 

_"T-they're all closed and locked."_

"Understood. Do you know who that man is, sir?" 

_"No! No, I only woke up to my dog complaining, s-so I looked outside and saw him fucking standing there like a creepy bas -- **why won't you fucking move?!"**_

Viktor tensed at the hysterical shift the man's voice took at the end. "Sir," he started, one hand rising to press against the shelled ear pad of his headset, "I need you to calm down, please. Do you have a wireless phone, sir?"

_"A wireless -- what's a wireless got to do with this?! Get the police here, now, please!"_

"They're on their way, sir, I promise, but I need you to focus. Do you have a wireless phone?"

_"Y-y-yeah... yes, yes I do."_

"Alright, I need you to go pick up that phone, but do not hang this one up until I tell you to do so." 

Once again, he heard the phone thump against a hard surface and far-off movement, followed soon after by a loud click and a strange double echo. 

_"D-done, done. I've got the wireless phone n-now, do I hang up the other one...?"_

"Yes, sir."

The double echo ceased in an instant. 

"What is the man doing now, sir?" 

A pause. _"He's... He's,"_ the caller gulped, whispering, _"he's still standing there... B-But I think he's gotten closer."_

"How far is he from the door, sir? Can you measure the distance?"

_"A-about some ten or fifteen feet away from my do -- what are you doing?! No, stop!"_

A loud crash and frantic screaming made static pop and filter through the headset, making Viktor wince. He turned to the emergency vehicle monitor, watching the way two distinct moving dots closed in on the marked house, yet still were a few ways away from actually getting to the property. Curse these rural area residences.

"Sir, what's going on?" He barked, tone wavering when his only response was a bloodcurdling scream and deafening, violent barks. 

_"He's here! He's **here**! He's **inside** my house, oh gods!" _ The man finally wailed into the phone, frantic scrabbling suggesting he was running away from the intruder. A rapid series of thuds informed Viktor that he was allegedly climbing stairs into a second floor. 

"Sir, I need you to listen to me closely, okay? Can you do that?" 

_"Yes, yes! Just, please, get here already!"_

"The police are on their way, sir," the Russian echoed, a rising feeling of helplessness threatening to consume him whole whilst his fingers all but became pale blurs over the keyboard. 

_'The intruder is inside the house.'_ He typed, sending the signal to both squad cars. 

"I need you to get inside a room with a lock, sir. Do you have a room with a lock on the door?" 

_"My bathroom and my room!"_

"Get inside your room and lock the door, sir. No matter what happens, do not open the door at all once you close it." 

The loud slam of a door and agonized yelps from a dog came through the line. 

_"W-we're inside the room n--"_

A soft pop. 

Blue eyes widened in horror before the dispatcher all but threw himself over the keyboard. He switched lines into the police channel in a blink and barked into the small microphone of his headset. 

"The suspect is armed. I repeat, the suspect is armed!" 

_"Understood, dispatch."_

A few clicks and he was back to his frantic caller. 

"Sir, I need you to hide inside a closet or under a bed. Can you do that?" He asked, tone still eerily pleasant despite his high strung nerves. 

_"!"_

"Sir, could you repeat that? I didn't quite catch that." 

Instead of getting a response, Viktor was once again horrified to hear the tell-tale thudding of a door being broken down, half garbled screaming and animalistic growling, two distinct soft pops, and then an eerie silence after the wireless phone landed with a muffled _thump_ against what he assumed was carpeted flooring. 

All in a span of ten seconds, maximum. 

Body momentarily frozen from either shock or terror, Viktor shook himself and feebly whispered, "Sir? Are you there? 

. . . 

Nothing. 

He was about to switch lines to the police dispatcher channel when distorted shifting caught his attention. 

"Sir?" He called, voice tinged hopeful despite knowing in the back of his mind what had just transpired was useless to hope against. 

Nothing but raspy breathing. 

"Sir? Are you alright? What happened?" 

_"... Knock, knock."_

. . . 

_What the actual fuck._

"W-what? Who is this?" 

The new voice became aggressive and forceful, completely different from the humourous lilt it had had before. 

_"Knock, knock."_

Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat. The other dispatchers were throwing looks his way, worried and noticeably tense given his own unease and steady descent into a breakdown. He offered a shaky smile, but it turned out to be more of a grimace than the comforting expression it was meant to be. 

"W-who's there?" He stuttered, unable to hang up on the caller and knowing it was useless to try and get information out of what must be the murderer. He fleetingly noticed the squad cars turning into the victim's neighborhood through his monitors. 

Maybe if he kept the man on the phone... 

_"Two roses."_

"Two roses... two roses who?" 

_"Two roses for you, lovely."_

A hand on his shoulder had him jumping in his seat. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Georgi standing there. 

_"Everything alright?"_ He mouthed, eyebrow raised and lips set in a grim line. 

Viktor shrugged helplessly and handed him another headset connected to his station. The raven slipped it on and tuned into the strange conversation. 

"Roses for who, sir?" Viktor asked, doing his best to sound impassive once again even when the distant wails of police sirens crept closer. 

_**"FOR YOU."** _

Both Russians jerked back at the sudden, deep throated growl. 

"Sir, I need you to calm down, please," bone white hands clacked away at the computer, imputing that this new voice was the intruder that had allegedly murdered an innocent man and his dog. 

_"I'll be seeing you soon,"_ the man strangely purred, his disturbing shift in mood yet again sending a chill down the operator's spine. 

_Click._

The line went dead. 

                             ❅❉❅

The soothing crescendo of the singing violins poured from the earphones, the occasional stanza of pearly piano keys weaving into their melody lulling the dispatcher into a fitful rest. 

"Don't feel so bad," Georgi weakly laughed, clearly not believing his own words. "There's good calls..." 

"And then there's bad calls," Viktor finished, pulling his arm away from over his eyes and staring up at the ceiling, feet dangling over the armrest of the loveseat. 

The pair were currently cooped up inside the soundproof Recovery Room, sent there by their night shift superior after the disastrous call Viktor had answered. 

After he had heard a man be mercilessly murdered by a gunman. He had never felt so helpless and utterly useless in the face of tragedy as he did now. 

"You'd think we'd be used to it by now," he sighed. 

Georgi sympathetically shook his head. 

"This has been the fourth time already." 

"Fourth time...?" 

"Fourth time a man's been murdered in the middle of a call." 

Viktor sat up, startled. "This week?" He gasped. 

The other Russian nodded solemnly. 

"Same man?" 

"Judging from the voice, I'd say yes." 

Viktor suddenly thought about the rookie policeman call he had received earlier that night. Could the events possibly be related? 

It would be too much of a coincidence if they were not. 

He plucked the buds from his ears and swung his legs over the loveseat's edge. 

"I got a call earlier -- or, well, Rosa did, but I answered it -- and the Grenher Police Station requested a recording from last Wednesday. It was from a Japanese man, shot in the stomach by the assailant." 

The raven nodded slowly, a pensive expression settling over his features as he mulled over the information. "Do you think," he started, finger pressed to his chin in thought, "that the calls may be related?" 

"It would be too much a coincidence if they weren't... Wouldn't this constitute as a serial killer?" 

"Well, whatever it is," Georgi sighed, rising from his seat across from the other man and offering him his hand, "we better get back to the lines. Those rookies are probably killing each other by now." 

A pleasantly startled bark of laughter from a still shaken Viktor left Georgi's lips quirking in amusement. 

                              ❅❉❅ 

The clock's hour hand had just struck three in the morning when a new call connected into Viktor's open line. 

"911, what's your emergency?" He asked, once again calm and collected. 

_"Y-yes, um... There's this-- this man outside our dorm building,"_ came an unnerved whisper through the headset. He distinctly heard the soft whispers of curtains being pulled aside and swayed, either by the caller themselves or someone else standing very close by. _"He's walking around in circles, I think...?"_

A pause. 

"Cou...Could you repeat that for me, sir?" 

_"The man he's... he's walking around a-and staring up at our window. It probably sounds weird, I know."_

"Could you describe him for me, sir?" 

_"I can't see a face, but it looks like he's dressed in all black. Around 6'0 to 6'5 tall, too, I think,"_ the caller relayed, sounding much more at ease than he originally was when the call began. 

"Do you know this person, sir?" 

_"No, we don't recognize him at all."_

"We? Is someone else there with you, sir?" 

_"Oh! Um, yeah, I'm here with my roommate. We were sleeping with the window open when we heard weird noises coming from the ground level dorms. I thought it was another student at first, b-but then Yuuri looked out the window and saw the guy. He said that he didn't recognize him and we noticed he kept staring at us..."_ He then trailed off, voice lowering into a hushed whisper before finally falling silent. 

"Sir? Is everything alright?" Viktor prodded, rhythmic taps slowing down the slightest bit. 

_"He's... He's,"_ a shuddering breath, _"the man's right under our window now."_

Viktor's shoulders steadily grew tense. "Stay with me, okay, sir? Everything will be alright; I've sent a squad car your way and alerted campus security about this, yes? 

_"Y-yeah, th-thanks."_

"May I have your name, sir? You and your roommate's?" 

_"S-sure, uh... m-mine is Phichit Chulanont and my roommate is Yuuri Katsuki."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can honestly say that I never expected this much feedback? Heck, I never even expected people to read this at all! I just can't thank everyone enough for all the kind messages and lovely kudos, so I will just try my best to deliver with this story!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> **Warning:** Non-descriptive mentions of mutilation.

❉❅❉❅❉❅❉❅

_"Sir, I need you to listen to me closely," Viktor said slowly, fingers rapidly moving over his keyboard yet again as the caller on the line began to hyperventilate._

_"Just hurry up, please! I'm not ready to die!" The young man, no older than nineteen, screeched into the phone, making the Russian flinch and grit his teeth._

_"The police are on their way, Mister Rogers, but I need for you to remain calm--"_

_Pop._

_The bloodcurdling scream was abruptly cut off and replaced by a disturbingly wet gurgle._

_Pop._

_Pop, pop, pop, pop._

_"Sir--!"_

Viktor shot up from his sweaty bed sheets and clapped a violently trembling hand over his mouth, only just managing to smother a cry of anguish ready to rip itself from the bowels of his throat. His shoulders heaved with the force of his desperate gulps for air, wide and unseeing blues staring blankly out of the large windows of his room and down into the lit streets of the city. 

The distant wail of a police siren was all the push the operator needed for a heart wrenching sob to tear free. His other hand came to lay heavily against its twin, trying and failing to muffle his frenetic cries. Tears fell from his tightly shut eyes like crystalline pearls and slipped over his clenched fingers, dripping off his chin and onto the thick comforter crumpled on his lap. His erratically hitching gasps managed to attract the attention of his old poodle, who came bounding into the room through his always open door and jumped onto the bed without hesitation. 

The large dog crawled over to the young Russian, whimpering and whining at the clear distress of his master, and he hastily nosed at a tear stained cheek. The cool wet nose against his own clammy skin snapped Viktor from his reverie, and his arms wasted no time in wrapping around soft, brown fur. He held his dog tightly, face buried against his curly coat and sobbing as quietly as he could into it.

The poodle stayed absolutely still, fuzzy paws shifting over rumpled bed sheets as an equally fuzzy tail slowly waggled back and forth. Small whimpers still slipped from a lightly panting mouth, which soon became happy little whines when the crying finally began to quiet down after long and drawn out minutes of it.

Shaky chuckles and wet sniffling followed Viktor when he slowly pulled back, arms still wrapped around his dog and face pulling into a trembling smile. 

"Good boy, Makkachin," he whispered, fingers carding through the thick fur in an almost subconscious move. A brighter laugh made its way out from him when a slobbering pink tongue poked out to run up his face.

Makkachin licked the tear trails away, leaving behind swipes of saliva on his pale cheek until Viktor finally pushed away his muzzle with a gentle hand. That same hand then trailed over to scratch behind a floppy ear and an easy smile replaced the watery one he had had.

"Sorry, boy," he finally apologised, pressing his forehead against the poodle's and nuzzling the soft fur. 

Makkachin only barked, cheerful, earning himself a surprised, little laugh from his master and a firm yet light palm wrapped around his muzzle. 

"Hush, silly!" Viktor whispered loudly. He released his poodle, who flicked his tongue out and licked his own wet nose, and scrubbed his fist over his damp eyes to dry them.

After blowing his nose with a tissue from the box on his nightstand, the operator swung his legs over the edge of his bed and set his bare feet against the cold floor. Viktor grabbed his dark grey night robe and swung it over his shoulders. He left the knot untied and walked out into his living room with only his pajama pants, thin shirt, and robe on, Makkachin hot on his heels.

A quick glance over at his mounted wall clock let him know that it was only _2:56 A.M._ , and even if Viktor knew that he would have to depend on his black coffee for the entirety of his shift, the silver haired man found that he did not care the slightest bit at the moment. 

His only preoccupation was laying down on the couch, his delightfully loyal dog burrowing at his side while resting his head over his chest, and throwing the spare blanket draped over the back of the couch over both of them. 

And if the remote control ended up on the floor after slipping from his lax grip a few hours later, no one but Makkachin was there to judge.  

                             ❅❉❅

Seven.

The kill count had gone up to seven in less than two weeks, officially declaring to any skeptical mind that this was the work of a serial killer at large. 

_'It could have been nine,'_ his little head-voice helpfully supplied, and Viktor could only groan, covering his face with his hands. 

He still remembered that call. The hidden terror almost dripping from the caller's voice as he reported the man standing under his and his roommate's window, even after he had specifically ordered the two to not approach the window or door anymore. No matter how strange his request had sounded even to him, the pair had obeyed and kept their distance from both entrances after confirming to him that they were sealed shut. He had heard their stuttering breaths when faint yet steady tapping from what he had assumed was the window began to filter through his headset, effectively setting him on edge.

He had then asked the one with the phone if they had a lounge to go to or a fellow friend in their building who would let them stay over until the police arrived. Both students on the other side had a brief yet hushed, ten-second-conversation before the one with the phone said that they did. 

Viktor had almost sighed in relief out loud.

_"I need you to go over to them, okay? Make sure that you do not make any noise if you can avoid it, sir,"_ he had said, tone levelled while closely watching the emergency vehicle monitor. He had distantly heard the duo stand and creep out of their own room in his rush to secure their safety.

Even when they had arrived at the designated safe room, Viktor had refused to let the pair hang up on him until they were entirely in the green-zone. He had no intentions of letting yet another caller die tonight.

The police and campus security had arrived shortly thereafter to find the room completely thrashed and the window smashed in. Nothing had been stolen, but the mattresses had been peeled free of their bed sheets and comforters along with their pillows having been flung halfway across the dorm. It was clear as day that the intruder had been hell-bent on finding them even if he had to search every nook and cranny of the room. When he had become aware that his attempts had been effectively thwarted, though, he had fled the scene without leaving a single trace of himself behind. 

Officers on the scene had claimed that had the two not left the room at the time that they did, whoever that man was would have found them and... the trespassing violation they had been originally called for would have taken a drastic turn for the worse. 

It still sent shivers down his spine whenever he thought about it. Viktor had managed to save two lives that night, yes, but he had failed to help three in the following ones. The unfortunate victims of his lack of usefulness were now in one of the many morgues somewhere in the city, laying dead via gunshot wounds on cold metal slabs within a hellish freezer. 

Not to mention that just as he and Georgi had suspected, all the murder victims, all seven of them, had eerily similar characteristics: they were each of Eastern descent -- either direct or generations behind, they were within the same age range of 19-26, and, from what they had seen on police reports, they each had dark hair with brown eyes. 

His hands, which were still over his face, slipped off and folded neatly over his lap. The tips of his shoes pushed his spinning chair this way and that, making him swing from one side to another and back again in his station, bored and ready to replace his disturbing thoughts with something else. His shift did not start for another forty minutes, but, as was usual of him, Viktor had already placed his line on standby and hooked his headset to dangle from the base of his neck. The mind numbing boredom he was currently drowning in left him tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling, counting the florescent light tubes glaring down at the room with their too bright shine.

Viktor would have remained that way for what could have been the next half hour had his line not suddenly connected to a call. He almost fell from his chair in his scramble to get his hands over the keyboard and headset over his ears at the same time.

"911, what's your emergency?" He said, voice the perfect picture of composure despite his headset laying askew on his head and halfway off an ear. 

_"Viktor!~"_

The silver haired man blinked dumbly for a second before the coiled muscles of his shoulders drooped in disbelief, a huff of incredulous laughter leaving a smiling mouth. Now steady hands fixed his headset properly and cradled his chin, elbows resting against the edge of his desk as his back hunched over to lean against them more easily.

"Shouldn't you be filing a case report, Chris?" Viktor teased, eyebrow quirking and smile turning sly. "And what did I say about calling my private _work_ line? The one meant only for emergencies?"

The blond on the other end laughed loudly, and Viktor could almost picture him waving his hand around in dismissal. 

_"The report is going no where,"_ the Swiss replied easily, _"besides, we don't have all the details yet on what exactly happened, so..."_ He trailed off, tone dipping into sombre waters before becoming chipper once again. 

_"But enough about work! I'm here to talk about **after**_ hours~" 

"Chris--"

_"No, no, no, wait, hear me out first! It's been an absolute pain at work these last few weeks, both for you and me, so why don't you let me take you out for drinks?"_

"My shift ends at six," Viktor deadpanned, "how are we going to go out drinking at six in the morning?"

Chris scoffed, the static of his breath crackling against the Russian's ear. _"I know a place,"_ was all he said, a clear 'I-know-something-you-don't' lilt to his voice. 

The Dispatcher took the time to mull the proposition over in his head. On one hand, he could skip the outing and go home to his cold apartment, yet on the other hand, he could go out after the night shift was over with his friend and use the time to catch up with one another -- something neither could do all that often given Viktor's job as an emergency operator and Chris's as a police detective. 

An exaggerated sigh of resignation from the silver haired man had the blond giggling quite unprofessionally. "Fine," Viktor finally conceded, wincing when Chris's over-enthusiastic cry left static popping through the headset.

_"Great! I'll text you after work with the details, yes? Bye for now, though, 'cause I think that's my boss coming over to my office and if he sees me wandering off one more time--"_

The line went dead with an abrupt _click._

Viktor could only shake his head fondly at his long time friend's questionable antics. How he ever got the position of police detective was truly beyond him.

A swift glance over to the wall clock informed him that he still had around twenty minutes to go, so rather than staying cooped up in his chair and risk going mad, Viktor decided to leave his station for a few minutes and go into the coffee shop across the street. 

He needed something heavy if he was going to get through with tonight.

                             ❅❉❅

He should have never set foot outside the building.

He should have listened to his gut feeling when an overwhelming feeling of intense dread had shot through his nerves, setting every hair of his body on edge. 

And he absolutely should have **never** looked over his shoulder when a strange noise behind him had caught his attention.

Too bad the sickly-sweet smelling rag over his mouth and nose was inhibiting his ability to think rationally anymore. 

The last thing Yuzu saw before darkness flooded his tunnelling vision, before his breath left him in a silent sigh, were a pair of wide amber irises, glinting with malice and twisted promises the poor store clerk had never wanted to know. 

                             ❅❉❅

The clock read _2:23 A.M._

Only a handful of emergency level calls had been received by the young Russian, and frankly speaking, he was a little more than tired of answering calls from frenetic mothers calling to complain about their sons or daughters not having arrived home after their curfew hour had long since passed. However, all he could do during _those_ type of calls was sit through them and listen to the screeched accusations of why hadn't he sent the entirety of the police department to the woman's house to search the entire county for their precious baby. 

His finger would hover dangerously close to the terminate button on his headset, but it was only through sheer force of will that he managed to not hang up on the scream-fest until they themselves hung up after a few more choice words aimed at his ancestors -- whoever they were. 

_'Relax,'_ his mind teased, and Viktor seriously wondered if he should start looking at underlying schizophrenia as another possible explanation for the little annoyance. _'Normal people never understand the need to keep lines open in case of a REAL emergency.'_

As much as he hated to admit it, the Dispatcher had to hand that one to it/him/himself/whatever the hell the voice was.

Even if he found the 'normal people' comment highly unsettling and disconcerting.

His half-hearted arguement with himself was cut short, though, when a new call began to connect to his waiting line.

                             ❅❉❅

Halfway across the city, a tall and lean figure admired his masterpiece. Sickly yellow eyes absorbed every splatter of red, every viscous pile of human viscera matting the walls and floor, along with every limb torn from its original socket and the resulting mess of snapped tendons and ligaments left behind in their wake. 

It was truly a beautiful sight, if you asked him. 

He had only one regret, though.

The twisted man could only wish with all the strength of his sullied heart that _this_ victim had been **the one** , and not just someone who so happened to resemble them.

But alas, his despairing was for naught, for he would find his target some day. He was absolutely sure of it.

With a crooked grin exposing disturbingly white teeth, a completely blood soaked gloved hand reached into the man's coat pocket. The slippery fingers slowly pulled what appeared to be a photo inside of a ziplock bag out, holding it almost reverently in his palm as he brought it before himself. Equally messy fingers from his free hand came up to stroke the pale figure's cheerfully smiling face, the soft caress completely belying the predatorial smirk currently twisting the murderer's lips.

The still warm blood smeared grossly over the plastic, yet the frozen young man on the other side remained the epitome of perfect.

Deranged amber locked into icy blues, and a surge of possessiveness left the tall figure clutching the picture tightly. The plastic bag crinkled in protest and the photo bent at the bottom, yet the person within it was still recognisable to the observant world.

"Soon, my love," he breathed, tone too light and airy as he lifted the photo to level with his face, where disgustingly cracked lips pressed a swift kiss against the thin barrier between them and the still image's own. He stuffed it away violently soon after, the deceptively tender moment gone, before pulling out a discardable flip phone and dialing an infamous number.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_ A smooth voice asked, and the killer had to hold back a groan of excitement at his sheer luck.

"Yes, there's an emergency," he drawled, once again too breathy and soft to be normal. "I'd like to report a homicide."

If the operator was taken aback by his bluntness, they did not show it. He couldn't help but sigh appreciatively into the speaker-- he had always loved a good challenge.

_"Where's the location of the murder, sir?"_

The lean man could only laugh the laugh of a pleased psychopath. "Trace the call, sweetheart," he purred, eyebrows waggling in the stale and pungent air around him, "there's a little surprise here just for **you.** " 

Before he heard the voice of his sick fantasies respond, he dropped the bloodstained phone with a clatter to the concrete ground and simply walked away.

Never once did he look back, and never once did he loosen his grip on his trusty handgun.

He had another copycat of his competition to find.

                             ❅❉❅

The analogue clocks read four in the morning when Viktor ran into the men's restroom, locking the door behind him and heaving dryly into the porcelain bowl.

The images of the crime scene -- oh, that horrendous, hellish scene -- were seared into his retinas; and with every blink of his tearful eyes, he saw the absolute blood bath and carnage left behind for the police to find.

He should have never tuned into the police dispatcher channel after his connection with the discarded phone had been ended. 

He should have shut it down when the officer on scene had almost wretched himself upon arrival.

And he should have most definitely terminated his side of the line when another more hardened officer had begun to describe the scene to the police dispatch.

His vivid imagination had filled in the extra details the officer had not wanted to be let known, and those little details, those little images, were more than enough to force him away from his station lest he empty his stomach over the monitors.

But no matter how hard he heaved, nothing rose and fell into the still waters of the toilet. Eventually, he stood once again and hobbled towards the sink. Trembling hands splashed cold water over a too white face before falling to grip onto cool, porcelain edges. 

The hissing of the still flowing faucet mixed with his soft panting. Fine brows were creased with worry, unseeing eyes staring through nothing, yet the mind was chaotic whereas the body was not.

_Just..._

His muddled brain fumbled for words.

_Just what the hell was going on...?_

❉❅❉❅❉❅❉❅

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly happy about how this one turned out, but this chapter's more oriented to laying down some foundation for the story to flow (hopefully) much more smoothly in later chapters..? If I'm explaining myself correctly at all here, aaahhhh ;w;

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? You can tell me either here or in my Tumblr: @mythonik
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!~


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